


Quite the Thing

by ALC_Punk



Category: Painkiller Jane (TV)
Genre: Dream Sex, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-08
Updated: 2007-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane has a tendency to dream her fantasies. Pure PWP, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite the Thing

Do you ever find it strange to be having sex half-clothed?

And maybe it's the weird sensation in her body from not being naked, or maybe it's her 'gift', but her brain fractures much faster. The drive towards orgasm is intense, hands on her skin and she tastes cigarette smoke at the back of her throat when he kisses her.

The flannel shirt under her ass isn't exactly enough to keep out the cold of the jeep hood, but she's ignoring that part. 

"Fuck," he says, the word low and ragged.

It's not what she was expecting, and an hysterical bubble of laughter almost escapes her. Fingers closing on his flannel-clad shoulders, she wonders if he was ever expecting to do this with her. Probably not, she decides.

Or at least, she amends (because it's Connor, and he probably fantasized about shit like this all the god-damned time), not in reality. In reality, he probably expected her to slap him or roll her eyes and walk away. He probably didn't expect her to grab his collar and drag his mouth to hers. 

Not that she expected to do that, either. Even now, with him fondling her half-naked breasts, she's not really sure if there isn't something really fucking surreal going on.

She's still wearing a boot, he's still wearing his pants halfway, and her bra isn't unclasped. She can taste the sweat from his skin even though he's not close enough to kiss anymore. She doesn't remember falling backwards, but the new angle is making her back arch, fingers fisting. One hand grabs the windshield wiper, and she laughs as it snaps in her grasp. Laughs and then stops as he steals her breath with his thumb pressed down against her clit--

And she comes, hard and fast and full of raw energy that spills outwards, blanketing her senses until she's nothing but writhing muscles and ragged breaths.

"Fuck," he says, again. 

His hands move to her hips and he holds her still. And she doesn't care that he's just pounding away at her, now, like she's a fucking blow-up doll, because, shit, it still feels good and he kind of sucks, but at least she fucking came first, and--

More curses spill from his mouth as his fingers tighten enough to leave bruises (if she bruised), and he's gone faster than she'd thought he would.

"Have problems with stamina?" She asks, propped on one elbow as he glares at her.

The scene changes suddenly, but it feels right. Except that now she's kneeling, straddling McBride, who's staring up at her in something like surprise. Or maybe the surprise is her own.

"Jane?" The whisper stretches into a moan as she sinks down onto him.

Neither of them are clothed, but his wrists are tied to the bed posts, wrapped around with distinctive patterns. Jane wonders why she's fixating on plaid flannel, then drops the thought because it's McBride beneath her, and he's glaring. Almost.

"Don't ask," she suggests, bending down to kiss him.

Moving above him, doing most of the work, she remembers, now. Remembers drinking one too many shots of tequila with him half-smiling. She used to think McBride didn't smile, now she knows better. He smiles when he's relaxed, he smiles when he wants something. He smiles when he's tied to her bed and naked. 

It's the last that's making her pleased, breath coming in short pants, because he knows what he's doing, thrusting up against her. The right angle is all she needs, the slight movement and the way her pelvis grinds down against his.

She's kissing him again when one of his hands cups her breast. 

Fuck, she thinks, he got free. She should have known he would, since he's skilled like that. His thumb and finger pinch her nipple, and the spike of pain sends her into orgasm. 

"Didn't tie it tight enough," he informs her.

Jane pushes up, grabs his hand and pins it to the bed, using her superior leverage to fuck him hard and fast. He looks surprised for an instant, then goes with it. "I'll remember that, next time," she promises, as his eyes go wide and he shudders beneath her.

Because there will be a next time, dammit. He's hot, she's hot, and the tequila is still racing through her blood, making her want to do it again, now.

Her mouth closes on his, and she figures he can use his hands, this time.

This time, the scene change isn't as abrupt. Because she's in her own bed, gasping for breath and staring up at the light from the street lamps on her ceiling and thinking _fuck_ while wondering when she started wanting to screw half her co-workers.

Not that the sex wasn't hot. She squirms a little, slipping her hand down between her legs and finding that the dreams had left her more than a little wet. The kind that demands she finish it, bring herself off, so she can sleep again. Which kind of sucks, as she seems to recall having said she wanted to find a guy and tequila--though not necessarily in that order.

Of course, she did kind of find someone. The lump sleeping next to her wasn't just a cute little cuddling session.

The lump was snoring a moment ago. 

A hand touches her side, and a cranky, sleep-filled voice mumbles, "Jane? Why the fuck are you awake?"

"Guess," she suggests, grabbing the hand and moving it down her stomach to where it would do the most good. She groans as Mo's fingers stroke one thigh.

"Again?" Her best friend, doesn't even have to open an eye for Jane to know she's glaring. 

"I had some nice dreams."

"Good for you." And yet, Mo's fingers are slowly stroking her.

"Some _really_ nice dreams."

Mo snorts and moves closer, fingers quickening their pace. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Jane lets out a soft moan and rocks up against Mo's fingers. "Don't stop, and I'll tell you all about 'em."

"Start talking, I haven't heard a good porn dream in a long time." Mo chuckles and licks Jane's shoulder, "And besides, I want to know all about your kinky sex fantasies."

Jane has only a moment to gather herself to talk, and then Mo's mouth is on hers. Mo's fingers press and twist and suddenly, Jane's not interested in talking at all. _Damn_ , but Mo's good at this--not that she had any doubt, but she's restating this fact for herself. 

With the dreams still fresh in her mind, and Mo's fingers pushing in and out, her thumb brushing against Jane's clit, she can feel the orgasm building.

It's right there, on the edge of her perception.

When she comes this time, she comes hard enough that she falls out of bed. A few bruises are nothing new, but the whole waking up alone, hand between her legs, and panting is a little new. 

_Fuck_ , but she needs to get laid. 

Getting on her knees, she stays on the floor, leaning her forehead against the mattress. Then, just in case, she checks her bed. Empty. Standing, she grabs her robe and pads around her apartment, double-checking that there isn't anyone there.

Really, this has to be reality, right? 

When there's no abrupt shift into her having sex with someone, Jane figures she's actually awake. She also figures she needs a drink. There's a half-empty bottle of wine, a glass, and bad late-night infomercials to stare at. 

She settles down in her chair, absently pulling the flannel shirt across her lap for warmth, and lets her mind go blank.


End file.
